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Wyatt’s serious face broke into a grin. Something Abe suspected happened far too rarely.
Clearing his throat, Abe called over, “Griff. We should get moving soon. Make sure you’re not bleeding out or anything inconvenient like that.” He turned to catch sight of Griff shooting him the bird.
Wyatt shook his head with a chuckle as Abe helped Griff sit up. He was favoring his side—possibly broken ribs. But his eyes shone vibrantly, the weary defeat from only a few days before banished. “Horton was behind me. He took a fall.”
“We saw.” Abe cracked open the orange first aid kit from his backpack.
“There was a second man too. And dogs.”
Wyatt paced along the cliff edge. “We’ll be extra careful on the return trip just to be on the safe side.”
Jo reached inside her jacket and waved a USB drive wrapped in plastic at Abe.
His pulse quickened. “Is that what I think it is?”
Her eyes gleamed as her fingers closed around the insignificant item. “This is the evidence we needed.”
Abe removed Griff’s jacket to check his shoulder. “Let’s get that somewhere secure.”
Wyatt grunted taciturn agreement as he prowled past, scrutinizing the horizon.
“No bullet holes.” Abe finished his check. “You were lucky.”
“Or just hard to kill.” A brilliant smile illuminated Griff’s dirty face as Jo planted a relieved kiss on his temple.
Griff deserved happiness in the arms of a remarkable woman like Jo. He’d been through enough, but Abe knew that would never be the case for him. Some hurts were just too deep to erase.
47
Two months later.
Rock music blared from all directions, but Griff’s attention was on the fake rock. He skimmed his hand over the polyester resin. The wounds on his hands had healed but were still sensitive, and his shoulder was braced with strapping, limiting movement on that side of his body. But that was all right.
He blew out a breath.
It was okay if things didn’t always go according to plan. He wasn’t his dad, and he was no longer a frightened twelve-year-old kid trying desperately to make things right, to find his place in the world. He didn’t need the climbing to define him as a man, to make himself whole. To prove he wasn’t a violent drunk with a chip on his shoulder. He’d been whole all along. He just hadn’t known it.
Thank God a certain woman had helped show him.
There was so much more in his life now that softened the raw loss his injuries had taken from him. So much more that more than made up for the different direction his life had taken.
Jo loved him just as he was, broken bones and all. He didn’t have to prove himself any more. His wounds were still healing, but his step was lighter than at any previous point in his life. He allowed himself a wry smile. He’d been so lucky to find her. Hell, if it wasn’t for the machinations of Raptor, he might never have met her. That one blew his mind.
Griff craned his neck to look upward. “It’s a tricky one.” The wall was twenty feet high, with a looming overhang. “I can do that.” Jamie, the twelve-year-old at his side, locked hands on his hips, his jaw jutting with determination.
Griff feigned surprise. “Really?” Climbing was still his passion, something he felt in his blood. Sharing it with young climbers made him feel alive, connected in the same way he did when alone on the rock face.
Jamie fired him a gappy grin. “Yup.”
“Okay. Remember everything we’ve discussed. Keep your body close to the wall and use your legs. Climbing isn’t just about using your arms. Your legs are strong and can help you. Use them to reach the higher holds.”
“I remember.” Jamie approached the wall, tilting his head to get a better view of the ascent. He glanced over his shoulder, checking that Griff was watching him.
Griff shot him a thumbs up. “Show me what you’ve got.”
He stepped back to give Jamie space, marveling at how the kid scaled the first few feet with ease on spaghetti-thin arms. When they’d first met, Jamie had been taciturn and withdrawn, the aftermath of an abusive father who was now safely behind bars. But a few weeks of climbing had unlocked the cragsman inside, just as it had for Griff when he’d been the same age. Jamie was born to climb.
Jamie missed a handhold and squawked, swinging on one arm like a tiny skinny monkey, but he remained unfazed. His free hand latched onto a grip before he continued his climb. He reached the top point, hit the tag and scrambled back down, hands and feet moving with the surety of a mountain goat. Jamie landed on the mat with a soft grunt.
